Snowed in
by crazed-ink-slinger
Summary: Everyone's stuck at the Opera Popular the day Andre & Firmin take over as managers. Even Isak Lefevre, resigning manager. How will they ALL get along? We'll have to see just how well Isak knows the Paris Opera & those who lurk within. Leroux/Webber mashup
1. Meet the managers

**A/N: The story is co-authored by me, Jessica-**

**-And me. I'm Jamie.**

**We're really excited about this one, and have been working out the little things for a long time.**

**-A long long long long time, my mind is still hurting from it all. And Jess has been really buged by one thing she wants to clear up right now. And it's really annoying at times I know and I'm sorry.**

**Jamie stop stealing the laptop! (sorry she likes to ramble on when I'm not..) Just, let me say it: Plot device. Plot device. Plot device. Plot device. The story stinks of it, I know. It's very unlikely for Paris to get two inches of snow, let alone a blizzard. But I don't care! Just go with it ok, I promise it will be good for lots of laughs. Hey, at least it breaks out of the mold right?**

**-Well I don' know about Jess but I will try to make it funny, but it's hard because I like to write seriously. Ah well we all have to do things we don't usually do. This story is musical based but with a lot of influence from the book on characters. Jess wants to have her way again.**

**That's right!- er I mean, I'll just break in to close things up. Thanks uber much to Tytania Strange for all her kindness and support, she inspired our start, and we want to give her and her wonderful story a shout out, so read her story it's called "The Conjuror's Masque"**

**Disclaimer: The story isn't ours, er, this is, but Phantom of the Opera isn't. For sure.**

**Sorry for the long A/N.**

**-Jessie's notes are longer than mine. And besides I don't ramble that much. She is the one that rambles, just look at what all she said.  
**

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The silence that filled the evening where there should have been last minute questions, nervous shouts, pointless bickering, and one or two mishaps, all brought to me to sort out, betrayed the fact that I had been quietly denying ever since it had been settled. Tonight was my last. And not even a note from the opera ghost. But I had done my job, the opera house might run almost without assistance. 

"It's not pink its salmon!" The too loud voice came from the next room and woke me up. Too loud for this time of morning anyway. Or not, upon checking the pocket watch on the stand by my bed, I realized it was about ten o'clock. Well, it's no longer my job to be awake and available. I tried to convince myself that this was a good thing while I found my robe and put it on.

"Look Jacque I don't care what the woman at M. Andre's office said, or how convincingly the secretary vouched for her, I'm not doing it. There's no way that we will possibly get paid for painting a man's office pink," I opened the door before the first man, or Jacque, could reply. It was clear just by looking at them what they were here to do: renovate. I was being pushed out of my office, and my position, and they were painting it pink, before it was even cold.

"Salmon, what a charming colour," it was horrid, "good choice," my voice made the men start. It took them a moment to realize who I was. Jacque looked triumphantly at the second man, "Thank you M. LeFevre." Jacque replied. It seemed that my approval was enough to convince them to start.

When I turned to leave I caught a glance between the men that said something along the lines of "must be a manager thing," as the second shrugged and went for a brush. By the looks of it Firmin had found the men for a "deal" and honestly I hoped that they weren't very good at redecorating. I wasn't sure if the colour was right either, but I wanted them to hate as much as I did. In any case, I didn't have time to waste babysitting third-rate painters. Even if I did I wouldn't spend my time watching these two destroy my office, as polite society would demand, as a favor for those who are kicking me out of it. Manners be derned.

It wasn't necessary, but out of habit I was ready in a few short minutes. Before I left I took one last look at my room, checking nooks to make sure they were emptied. There it was, 30 years of my life, packed away in a set of luggage. The ticket, one way to Australia on the Queen something or other (the name escapes me), was on the nightstand with my watch. I tucked both into my jacket slowly, and when I was done I was ready to just shrug, turn my back, and leave the room.

Walking out it struck me as odd once again that any man would want to spend his days in a room that resembled the inside of a fish. The complete picture was not what I wanted to carry with me as the last thing I remembered of the place, so I hurried out before the painters could finish the walls.

The sight that met me directly outside the office door was not much better. I had to stop short of my first step or run directly into M. Andre and M. Firmin. Speaking of fish...

"Andre! Firmin! You're looking wet- er well." They were damp to say the least.

"It's snowing," said Andre brightly.

"Snowing?"

"Snowing," Firmin was a bit less chipper.

"This early in the year? In November?" It was more than a little unusual, something I wanted to enquire after, but at the look on Firmins face I thought it better to move on quickly. I suppose there really was no question to be had, with the soggy evidence all too close and too clear, there must be some kind of freak weather at hand. Still, the first chance I had to slip away, I wanted to see it for myself, "I apologize gentlemen for not having met you out side. I hope you can forgive me for keeping you waiting," I slipped into a false, friendly, and proper manner (as any Parisian must be able to do), which was easier than I had expected. Well, I was ready to be done, and quietly was the quickest way out, "Now, if you'll follow me I can show you exactly what it is you've gotten yourself into."

Somewhere in the back of my mind I think I registered that this new turn of events might interfere with my travel plans. I had no idea. Until we reached the chaos that was the backstage, that is.

Apparently I had underestimated the ability of my workers to be so completely unproductive to the point of actually undoing their work, because they had. Somehow, I could have sworn that yesterday everything was ready for the performance. Usually, yes, usually there are last minute jobs to complete, causing some amount of panic. But nothing such as this. How could so much be done- well, undone in one dead-silent night?

I couldn't help but be amused by the disarray that everyone had caused as we weaved through it. Though any half-sane manger in charge of this mess would be at breaking point at having to sort this out by this evening, Andre and Firmin simply looked awestruck and amused. I felt sorry for the poor fools because there is no way that a stage and its crew should be in this condition even two weeks before the performance. But then again, I had an odd feeling that _every_ direction that I had given them and every department I had explained to them had bounced off Firmin's head and gotten stuck in Andre's bushy wet hair.

"Isaak Aluin LeFerve!" Here comes a devil. Normally Juliette is a collected and tactful woman, but apparently today is a bad day. I can't say I blame her, as she has to see this mess play out. "Carlotta is angry, and has been yelling for the manager for the better part of an hour. Am I supposed to thank you for finally showing up?" She flipped her braided hair, and if you've known her for as long as I, you would know that it meant that she was very annoyed.

I turned, and replied "You mean managers." One of whom, coughFirmincough, was too busy oggling the ballet rats to be paying attention to what was happening around them. As a result he almost got run over by the elephant...unfortunately, it missed.

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**A/N: -Jess want to start this thing called "Cool Quote of the Chapter" I'm sorry **

**Rambler! Anysho here it is:**

**"Ah well, I suppose I shall have to die beyond my means."  
-Oscar Wilde**

**Once again "The Conjuror's Masque" It's awesome, and worth the read!!!**

**-I'm the sane one, Jessie's well...not right in the head. Sorry this chapter is very short. Please review this story please!**


	2. Not going as planned

**A/N: It's been stewing for a while, so I hope you like it! Things go a little further awry.  
**

"Whoever it is, Carlotta's demanding to see them," Juliette stated, "And long as they hurry it's all the same to me." She gave me a pointed look, then turned and walked rigidly back to the mass horror ahead: the stage.

Andre and Firmin babbled something about a meeting and said they would rejoin me in a moment. I had my doubts about them finding their way back, but I was relieved to be rid of them. I began to follow Juliette Giry; when I heard a racket horrible enough to wilt pansies, and pansies are the strongest flowers in the world. It's true! (Mother was somewhat of a botanist, don't ask...)

I quickly realized that the racket I was hearing was the product of a harassed orchestra combined with Carlotta's singing, it was then that it all made sense. I had to keep myself from laughing aloud. Those poor ignorant fools have no idea what's in store: Carlotta's wrath.

We rounded a corner and I stopped short. Some of the drunken stage hands were toppling out of the elephant due to its quick stop at the edge of the stage. A bottle had fallen from one of their hands and was headed toward a small group of ballerinas who were doing last minute stretches. Juliette let out an annoyed sigh, flipped her hair, and hurried off just as one of the girls lost her balance stepping on the bottle. All of the girls crowded around, and taking a quick count I realized half were missing. La Sorelli wasn't even present. She shouldn't have been detained by the weather; her flat was not even a block from the opera house.

It occurred to me to check at the stable entrance to see just what kind of turn up we had today. I turned to do just that when I saw the managers approaching. I was surprised: first, to see that the two had actually found their way back, and second, to be reminded that Sorelli and the ballet rats were no longer my problem. Andre and a guest stopped at my side, but Firmin was headed straight to center stage. I hurried to catch up, and grabbed his shoulder.

"Please, allow me to introduce you." The man was hell-bent on taking over as soon as possible. So be it, but he wasn't going to plow through the cast at the risk of running someone down.

Ryer interrupted the rehearsal process after a particularly ridiculous trill from Carlotta (much to every ones relief). I quickly stepped in to take my opportunity. With a truly Parisian smile (one that hides any real emotion), I wove the appropriate fables. I was 'retiring', Andre and Firmin were 'gentlemen', ect. Call it what you like: chronic lying, denial, social constipation; we don't care we're French. It's not French to insult with the truth. So, I refused to mention the crass show of political muscle the two weasels used to kick me from my post, or their clear ineptitude, inability to tell one note from another, and sheer lack of leadership qualities.

"I am sure you have heard of their recent fortune amassed in the junk business." I couldn't help myself there.

"Scrap metal actually," insisted Andre. That sounded like a title Firmin would assign; it was like calling a garbage man a 'Sanitation Engineer'.

"And I want to introduce to you our newest patron, the Viscount DeChangey," Firmin interrupted with a slimy smile, and gestured to the boy beside him.

As it was now my duty to introduce the company leads, the question of Sorelli flitted briefly through my mind once more. Carlotta and Piangi played the dramatics up like only two egomaniacs could. When the dandy boy, Raoul, finally stepped up to make a speech I couldn't help but think his confidence was a little misplaced; he spoke like a bearded old viscount, when I don't think he could have managed to grow a moustache. He looked a little too surprised as his farewell was interrupted.

"Lefevre!" a patronized, yet somehow apathetic voice called out from the edge of the stage. I excused my self with Raoul to address its owner and there followed us an awkward silence. I put my arm around the boy and lead him off stage as if it was the most natural thing in the world, in an attempt to give our exit some of the dignity he'd been trying to get at. Carlotta raised her voice in an attempt to regain the spotlight.

"He love-a me, love-a me, love-a me, love-a me!" As we passed the outside of the crowd, I gave Madame Giry a meaningful look. She took my cue and approached Andre and Firmin to pull them off stage, so Ryer could regain control. I turned to face my employee.

"Isaak, how many times have I asked it? Keep your ballet rats out of my cellars!" There was a particularly wet, distressed looking girl standing next to him, whom he had by the arm, "I have more important thing to do than look after wanderers that should know better. She thought to warm up by the furnaces and coal men, no thought for their characters or her decency." A few of the near-by ballet rats, who were waiting for their entrance, snickered. Meg Giry blushed red, she knew better than I how long it would take to live such a scene down.

"Coal men?" Roul asked, still close at hand. He stared at Meg as he made the statement. She crossed her arms in front of the chest of her _wet, white_ frock and frowned at him. I quickly shrugged off my coat and offered it up to her, as I gave Raoul a brief explanation. Meg hurried into the coat, a little red faced.

"The Opera Popular is much more immense than one imagines. Two levels underground is where our furnaces are fed and stoked in order to give us heat; we call the workers there coal men." Raoul nodded and tore his beady (had I not noticed?) eyes off little Giry to listen as I told him how to find the exit. Meg left as Raoul did and I turned to face the remaining man.

"For the record, I really _don't_ like some of the new workers." Known as The Shade to all the residences, the cloaked figure before me was covered in enough layers of various coats and scarves to hide any hint of an identity or face, aside from the felt hat which indicated the presence and location of a head. "By the way, she's the second one this month. The residents are losing sight the fears that keep them from exploring the cellars. She really might have gotten hurt." He paused. "And if this is going to become a more regular part of my job, I truly do deserve a raise. Our current agreement isn't nearly enough for dealing with these types." He motioned to the stage where Piangi had fallen from the wooden elephant. I cringed.

"Sorry but you'll have to take that up with the new managers." The Shade followed my gaze toward Andre and Firmin.

"Those two half wits!?" Like most people he could tell at first glance. "Wait, new managers? You didn't tell me-,"

"It slipped my mind," I stated, moving toward the stage. The number was almost over, and I was almost free to leave. As I took my place beside Andre he turned to me, he seemed to really enjoy being in the thick of the process.

"May I ask you why you're retiring?" the boorish question struck down my impression of him as the better of the two. He knew exactly the reason, and it was a thing even I'd been polite enough not to bring up.

"For my health," the lie came easily, and without the edge I'd intended. We were interrupted by Carlotta.

"All-a you wand is-a dancing girls!" She was storming toward an exit. A look passed between the ballet rats, as it often did. Firmin hurried over to join Andre in begging my advice.

"Grovel!" Ha! "Grovel, grovel, grovel." Eat your hearts out. This was a memory to keep close to the heart, so with that I turned to leave. "If you need me, I shall be in Australia." At the edge of the stage I leaned up against a beam and paused to take in the scene one last time. When Carlotta began to sing something in the rafters caught my attention. A cloaked figure was moving up in the catwalks. It wasn't the shade, or a scene shifter, it was- This was odd. He doesn't like coming topside, doesn't like crowds, or daylight, hates rehearsals, and yet there he was. Why? One of the ballet rats caught my gaze.

"It's The Phantom!" Amidst the screams of horror the figure stopped mid stride and pulled the nearest rope, for support (having been caught off guard) or convenience I could not tell. Carlotta let out a genuine cry, followed by infantile pouts to drown out even the ballet's chorus. The fly set had only been close enough to catch the end of her dress and pull her down. I watched as Madame Giry picked up the note that had fluttered to the ground. She approached Andre and Firmin with it, and _flipped her hair_. They were, of course, distracted, as Carlotta made her real exit. She was calling it a day sooner than I expected. The ghost's note, read aloud, only served to add fuel to Firmin's anger, yet they agreed to hear Daae. To me Christine was not a surprising suggestion, thought it was a convenient situation….

Daae had finally caught he full attention of the crowd when something dropped from the rafters. It was moving, and it fell directly into Christine's hair. As everyone else recoiled in fear, no thought of helping close at hand, I had no choice but to step back in.

Andre and Firmin only stared stupidly, the first at the rafters and the second at Christine. When I finally managed to extract it from the panicky, cowering ingénue (whose frenzied hand swatting had been to no avail) she shrieked, the rat squeaked, and Andre squealed. The latter caused the room to go silent so everyone heard the echo of him hitting the floor, passed out. The cleaning ladies, who could be heard in the audience, bust out laughing.

Firmin let out a "Not again!" and I suggested we continue our conversation in the office. As I finished speaking there was heard another crash, followed by:

"Ouch, my tailor made Egyptian-silk trousers!" it was the boy Viscount.

"You land-a on my dress-a, ged off!" and Carlotta. There was a resounding slap. When they got to the edge of the stage the entire cast crowded around, asking too many questions at once. All thought of practice was done for; so I was left, center stage, alone with an unconscious Andre sprawled on the floor, and Firmin. Ryer was standing abandoned in the orchestra pit, baton still aloft.

**A/N: The Plot Thickens! R&R! refuse and regret it.  
**


	3. Coward

**A/N: Sorry it took so long. I was waiting for Jamie to give final clearance but it never came. So I'm going ahead without her. Hope you enjoy it! **

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Carlotta's poodle, which I didn't recognize, ran through the crowd to bark at the rat in my hands, which I did recognize. I was able to extract the note attached to the rat by a piece of string before it flung itself from my arms. I also managed to catch the dog by the collar before a pursuit could cause any damage. Oddly enough, the poodle didn't resist as I picked it up. Firmin looked curiously for a moment at the rolled paper in my hand, while the dog tried to lick it. I handed the note to Firmin and put the poodle back down, as it had forgotten about the rat already (the dog seemed rather thick).

"That's not-," he began.

"Another note for the new managers, yes. But not from the Opera Ghost." The Shade had left the shadows of the backstage area as they had become crowded by the eager company members. "Personally, I find an actual appearance to be much more effective." He bent down and gave the dog a pat on the head, and stared, amused and disdained, at Andre.

"We should probably move him while everyone is out of the way." I nodded in the direction of the huddled performers. The Shade tipped his hat to a disgruntled looking Reyer as he passed, heading to try futilely to get rehearsals back on track. Then he moved over and grabbed hold of the hem of Andre's pants, next to the shoes, with one hand. He looked up.

"Care to take his shoulders, or shall I just drag him to the office like this?" It was tempting, but I bent to help. Firmin could not be bothered to do much more than sputter indignantly, throw questioning looks at The Shade, and follow us to the managers office.

As we walked up the stairs Firmin leaned in close "Who-,"

"Ah, ah, I'm gone to Australia." I'm not getting more involved. I would go as far as the office; then I'd be gone.

Juliette Giry was waiting by the door (considering it was her the quick arrival was not surprising). On the landing I didn't get a chance to slip away. Firmin pushed his way in first, The Shade sighed (I suppose rolled his eyes) and followed, and Juliette put her hand on my back to guide me in as if she didn't not feel my backwards resistance. She knows me too well.

Once inside Juliette pulled some smelling salts from her person to rouse Andre. He sat up and looked around curiously.

"That kind of behavior in rats is simply unacceptable!" he was clearly still distraught. Firmin dismissed his partner's distress, but seemed to agree at the same time.

"Apparently it carried this." Firmin held up the note, unrolled it, and read, "'I welcome you to my Opera house, and remind you that my salary is due.' Where have I heard that before? Oh, that's right, this morning. This poorly duplicated letter is obvious proof this whole thing is a hoax! Of all the vulgar jokes-,"

"I assure you **monsieur** it is no joke. This letter, judging by its delivery, is from another. The man is too absent minded to bother composing anything not on the subject of his science, and is a resident of the Opera. He's the sort that manages to wear fine cloths badly, you know the type. Keep reading and you will see." Juliette was impatient. Firmin bristled at being instructed, like a child. But he must have been curious, for he continued.

"'I also request that you remember to keep the fourth and fifth cellars empty, for my use. If you do not comply, you will deal with an infestation beyond your imagination.

Quinn Webster,

Rat Catcher

P.S. Salary in Pounds only!'

Another salary! What kind of nonsense is this!? Apparently the word manager has previously come with less authority than it merits." Firmin gave me a look that blamed this apparent negligence on my lack of discipline. Andre looked for all the world like he did not want to deal with the infestation.

"Come, come Richard, the man's title says it all. He's no specter; he provides a service, a _necessary_ service. _Please_ it's just, practical!"

"How well could he be doing. We've already seen a rat."

"Oh," Andre looked more threatened still, "Let's not go through the… _trouble_ of finding a new employee!" Firmin didn't reply, but continue to look peeved.

We didn't have to wait very long in the silence that followed. Barely a moment passed before the office doors slammed open and Carlotta stormed in followed by an abused Raoul, who sported a mud-stained and torn trouser leg. He put a sheepish hand through his ruffled hair, trying to cover a red cheek with it.

" 'E says-a we cannod leave." Carlotta directed the statement at me. When I didn't reply Andre tried to step in with a question. Carlotta shot him down with a withering look. "_I said_: 'e will nod led-a me leave." Again I didn't answer. Firmin was growing red by this time and so Andre gave a nervous cough, hinting to Raoul.

"Gentlemen, let me explain." Carlotta let out the sight of a mezzo soprano. "Weather is as we have never seen it in Paris!" Boy this kid was all pomp and feathers. "The snow of this morning continues to come down unrelentingly. I fear we do not have the proper skills or knowledge to be traveling about in it. So it is my suggestion that we wait out the storm, for the safety of your workers," he spoke to Firmin, who didn't seem all that interested, "the sake of _liability_," and to Andre, "and at the request of your patron. Besides, this is Paris, how long can it last?"

My thoughts were to send workers home to their families while conditions were still in the beginning stages, if they were so bad. There would obviously be no opening night. This seemed not to have occurred to Firmin, yet the word liability seemed enough to get though to him. The doors were as good as barred.

"Now, who shall we contact to have all of this arranged?" Firmin looked to me, determined to extract information this time. I was determined not to fold. Giry looked over to give me an icy glare and sighed.

"Come with me monsieur." She flipped her braid as she passed me and caught me in the back with her elbow. The managers and Raoul followed her staunch exit, but not without difficulty; she was not easy to keep up with.

"Well that's a fine thank you, for my help." The Shade, who'd been leaning quietly against a wall, straightened up and moved to the door. "But then, what else can you expect from this." He opened his arms and gestured to the re-painted salmon room. "By the way, Quinn knew, _Quinn_ knew before me? Were you just going to leave me in to dark until I was booted off the new payroll? And don't give me that, 'boo-hoo I should be gone to my plush retirement by now' game with me. Your silent brooding is even more annoying than your normal presence."

"You're one to speak," I shot at him.

"On second thought, I'll take the silence. I have things to do." And with that The Shade was gone; which left me with only one other question. I turned to Carlotta.

"Since when were you Italian?"

"Since when were you spineless?" she asked, reverting back to her usual Spanish accent.

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**A/N: I've been so excited about revealing this!! The plot thickens! R&R, reason for reward.**


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